


An Old Man's Words Ring True

by undertheimperius



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bunker Fic, Curtain Fic, Domestic, Domesticity, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-24
Updated: 2013-09-24
Packaged: 2017-12-27 11:48:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/978516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undertheimperius/pseuds/undertheimperius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean, Sam, Cas, and Kevin learn what it means to be a family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Old Man's Words Ring True

**7:23 AM – Breakfast**  
  
Dean wakes to the scent of burnt grease wafting into his room. His stomach grumbles in protest, empty and eager for some sort of morning sustenance, but not so desperate that it would willingly subject itself to the scandalous excuse for cooking that was currently happening in the bunker’s kitchen. It couldn’t be Sam since living alone at Stanford had forced him to learn how to cook past microwavable noodles the consistency of plastic if he wanted to maintain his health and sanity, and Kevin had recently taken to locking himself in a room he claimed as his with the angel tablet in hopes that he can figure out how to combat Metatron’s spell and earn the angels back their wings.  
  
Mentally sifting through the bunker’s occupants, Dean is only left with one person and he’s wary to make his way to the kitchen to be met with the former angel’s newest attempt at assimilating with humanity. The first time Castiel decided to be helpful had resulted in the singeing of a tapestry in the library (Dean is still confused as to how in the hell a vacuum cleaner spontaneously combusted, but when it comes to Cas, he’s learned to stop asking questions).  
  
Dean stumbles into the kitchen, absentmindedly scratching at his abdomen as he eyes Cas’s concoction with distaste. The former angel has filled four plates with eggs an off-putting shade of pale, bacon fried to such a crisp that it’s nearly been burnt, and unevenly cooked toast. His hair sticks up in all sorts of directions, and his sleepshirt is irreparably stained with the evidence of his cooking.  
  
“I made breakfast,” he announces, his voice gravely, but proud.  
  
“I see,” is Dean’s noncommittal response as he takes a seat in front of a plate.  
  
“Good morning,” Sam grunts as he, too, enters the kitchen for breakfast. He distractedly runs a hand through his long hair, combing it into submission with his fingers in order to escape Dean’s critique of what he calls his lion mane. He takes a look at the plate in front of his chair and spears Dean with a questioning expression.  
  
“Cas made breakfast,” Dean near-parrots, gesturing to Sam’s plate with his fork.  
  
“Oh, I almost forgot,” says Castiel, shuffling behind the counter to the coffee machine, under which steams a fresh pot of coffee that, much to the Winchester brothers’ happiness, is actually emitting a passable fragrance.  
  
“Thanks, Cas,” says Sam as the former angel fills up all of their cups. He fails to bring out sugar or cream, but no one complains as the three of them much prefer the bitter tang of black coffee on their tastebuds.  
  
Dean takes a grateful sip of his coffee, relishing in the feel of the hot liquid coursing down his throat and the caffeine beginning to pump through his veins, but neither he nor his brother have touched their breakfasts.  
  
Sam hesitantly spears a clump of eggs and brings them to his mouth, chewing the rubbery bit of food while struggling to hide a grimace.  
  
“It’s good,” he enthuses, his voice only vaguely tinged with dishonesty and the lie, thankfully, goes undetected.  
  
“I am glad you like it, Sam,” Castiel preens, his lips cracking into a small grin.  
  
Dean reaches to slather jam on his toast and takes a loud, crunching bite, just narrowly avoiding a burnt section of bread.  
  
“It’s fantastic,” he forces himself to say, nodding in agreement with his brother. It’s a far cry from his mother’s banana chocolate chip pancakes, her peanut butter sandwiches without the crust, and her delectable cinnamon apple pies, but it was an attempt, and he can’t fault the fallen angel for trying. If anything, Dean appreciates the fact that he woke up before the rest of the household and  _tried_  to make everything right, to make everything feel  _normal_. Even if it wasn’t perfect, it was still  _something_ , and Dean feels a little warmth bloom in his chest at the idea of the family that he, his brother, and Castiel are forming – team free will, and all that.  
  
The door to Kevin’s room creaks open and out steps the young man. Stubble coats his chin and cheeks but the dark smudges that had lived under his eyes while Sam was working on the demon tablet trials were beginning to melt away. Apparently, the memory foam mattresses of the bunker weren’t only proving to be beneficial for Dean alone.  
  
“Did someone make coffee?” Kevin asks, the fumes from the coffee pot wafting to his nose and carrying him to the kitchen table. Castiel pours him a mug and tentatively holds it out, gesturing to the one untouched plate of food. Kevin nods his thanks, takes the food and the coffee, and disappears once again into his room.  
  
“Good morning to you, too,” Dean calls out over his shoulder, a teasing note in his voice.  
  
“Poor kid hasn’t stopped working on the angel tablet since we gave it to him,” says Sam, not missing the guilty expression that briefly flashes across Castiel’s face at his words.  
  
“Then let’s give him a reason to stop,” counters Dean, standing up from his unfinished breakfast and stacking his plate on his brother’s. “Let’s clean this place up, have something special for dinner, and watch a movie. What do you think?”  
  
Sam looks from his brother to the fallen angel, catching the hope that glimmers in both sets of eyes, and nods, their optimism infectiously drawing a smile to his face. “Let’s do it.”  
  
  
 **8:17 AM – Clean Up**  
  
Dean shoos Castiel out of the kitchen, unwilling to leave the former angel to his own devices in the one room of the house that Castiel has obviously already failed to tame. He picks up the plates from the table, scrapes the leftovers directly into the trash bin, and places them into the sink that he has filled with suds. Rolling his sleeves to his elbows, he scrubs down the dishes and silverware, using an extra bit of effort to scrape the caked-on grease that had burnt into the bottom of the frying pan Castiel had used for the bacon and eggs until it shines like new. He dries off his work with a fluffy cotton towel and replaces everything in its rightful place in the kitchen cabinets. Taking the same towel that he used to dry the dishes, Dean wipes down the counters, stovetop, and cabinet doors (how the hell Cas had managed to dirty  _those_ , he won’t ask). Satisfied with how sparkly the kitchen has gotten, Dean puts on a fresh pot of coffee and begins to plan for the light lunch and dinner he’ll put together for their evening.  
  
  
 **8:54 AM – Bedroom Tidying**  
  
Castiel graciously takes his leave from the kitchen, knowing full well that he had made a mess of it during breakfast. He was trying his hardest to fit in, to contribute something to the dynamic that the brothers had solidly established through years of fighting side by side. Back when he was an angel, he was able to serve as a powerful ally in battle. Now that he has lost his powers, he feels more or less useless. He can still help with strategy as he was lucky enough to retain his mind this time around, but he can no longer travel the globe in the blink of an eye, read others’ minds, or heal mortal wounds. Kevin, the prophet, has figured out his place in their ragtag group of misfits, but had it not been for Castiel’s mistake in the first place, he wouldn’t need to be focusing so intently on translating the angel tablet. There’s no point in wallowing in what could have been, Castiel realizes, but he won’t stop trying until he finds his place. He is now able to scratch “cooking” off of his list of ways he can help, although he appreciates the fake enthusiasm the brothers extended towards his breakfast catastrophe.  
  
Eager to find some other way he can help, Castiel decides to try his hand at straightening out the bedrooms. He finds making his bed every morning to be oddly therapeutic; there is just something comforting in the act of getting all of the sheets and blankets to line up while ironing out the creases and wrinkles left behind from a good night’s sleep. The mindlessness of the action coupled with the necessity to pay attention to detail allows Castiel’s mind to wander while simultaneously appealing to his desire for militaristic order.  
  
Having organized his room when he woke up, Castiel takes to Sam’s room first, fluffing his pillow and straightening out the fitted sheet with a sweep of his hands. He pulls up the flat sheet, tucking any corners that were pulled astray during the younger Winchester’s rest, and then tugs up the blankets and comforter, leaving the bed with perfectly crisp and orderly lines. Pleased with his work, he takes to Dean’s room, giving his bed the same treatment.  
  
He tries to remain fully absorbed in his work, nervous of upending something he is not supposed to touch and thereby breaking the tenuous trust that he has been hastily striving to rebuild with the Winchesters. Despite this, his eye gets drawn to a small black and white photo on Dean’s nightstand. Castiel does not recognize the boy and the woman in the picture as he never saw either of them at that age, but, judging by the folded creases in the image, the picture is well-loved by its owner and could only be Dean and his mother. Castiel wishes he could have known her as she certainly means much to the Winchester brothers. He also wishes he had been lucky enough to have experienced the sort of family that they had together. He knows that it would have been impossible then, him being an angel and all, but, as he tucks the picture back into place on the nightstand, he silently hopes that he can forge a new sort of family with his humanity.  
  
  
 **9:15 AM – Filing**  
  
Since the night the angels fell, the radar has been uncharacteristically silent. Sam would have thought that there would have been far more calls than there ended up being, especially with an event so cataclysmic as the complete emptying of heaven, but the brothers have yet to hear much of anything from anyone. Despite this, the library is still an utter mess with pages strewn across the control table and files upended onto the floor from when he and Dean had left in a hurry to find themselves a demon to cure. He picks up the manila folders, carefully re-stuffing them with the papers that lie haphazardly on the table, and stacks them in alphabetical and subject order.  
  
The bunker’s library, with its limitless array of knowledge, is a place where Sam has begun to feel at home. Although the state of affairs around the globe has likely been made worse for wear by the purging of heaven, he has started to believe that, with the aid of the bunker, there might be a light at the end of the tunnel for him. He has accepted that there probably won’t eve been an “out” for him anymore - no one who gets into the life ever gets out, right? - but maybe, just  _maybe_ , the bunker can help him transition. He can stay in more often and work on the behind-the-scenes parts of cases, organize the calls that come in, and direct Dean where to go with the information that he susses out of the books and files that the Men of Letters have compiled in their archives. Now that Cas has become a more permanent fixture in their lives, they have yet another hunter on their side that can act as manpower in the field, serving as Dean’s backup whenever needed. Dean, Cas, Kevin… even Garth. They could set up their own network of hunters in a way that all of them would be able to get out of the life just what they wanted. Or at least, Sam thinks to himself as he files away the last of the papers, he can only hope.  
  
  
 **9:27 AM – Translating**  
  
Kevin’s breakfast plate is empty as he quickly scarfed it down and washed it away with the scalding coffee Castiel had made. In comparison to his diet of hotdogs, Cas’s attempt at breakfast was actually appetizing and had provided him with just enough energy to carry him through another bout of translating. At the rate he’s going, he can probably have it done in…a minimum of six months. That is, of course, if he is translating the squiggly sideways M-shaped character correctly. If not… He’d rather not think about it.  
  
  
 **6:25 PM – Dinner**  
  
The rest of the day passes in a general peace. Sam leafs through a few books he finds in the library, Kevin toils in silence, and Castiel successfully manages to learn how to wrangle the vacuum cleaner into working without setting anything aflame thanks to Dean’s watchful supervision.  
  
The scent of beef sizzling on a grill lures everyone from their respective corners of the bunker and they all congregate in the kitchen, mouths watering at the thought of whatever delectable dish awaits them. Dean stands behind the counter with a spatula in his hand, sporting a “kiss the cook” apron around his torso. He flips the patties onto buns stacked with lettuce, tomatoes, and cheese and offers the plates along with condiments to Sam, Kevin, and Cas. Sam squirts modest amounts of ketchup and mustard on his patty and Castiel spreads a thin coating of mayonnaise on his bun while he watches Kevin make a grinning face on his burger with the mustard. Dean makes sure to complete his burger with all of the fixings as well before taking a hearty bite, meat juices dribbling down his chin.  
  
“What do you guys think?” he asks around a mouthful of beef, bread, and, contrary to his personal belief system, vegetables.  
  
The three men nod enthusiastically, their mouths too busy with their meals.  
Dean feels a spark of accomplishment fill his chest and he tucks into his burger with relish.  
  
  
 **8:46 PM – Movie**  
  
After dinner, the four of them - Winchesters and honorary Winchesters alike - clean up the kitchen together so that they can retire for the evening with a movie, just as Dean had planned.  
  
Dean isn’t sure how they managed to finagle it, but Sam and Kevin figure out how to set up Netflix in the bunker’s living room and Castiel aids in rearranging the furniture around the projector while Dean fetches some cold beers from the refrigerator.  
  
Kevin agrees to abandon his translating for the night and makes himself comfortable on a large cushy armchair. Castiel curls up by the foot of the chair in a nest of his own devising consisting of various pillows and blankets that he procured from various parts of the house; he nurses his beer under the cover of his blankets and eyes the screen with curiosity. The two Winchester brothers sit side by side on the couch and Dean, being the oldest human - or at least, that’s his claim to authority - takes hold of the remote and starts sifting through the films available to view.  
  
“Indiana Jones? Star Wars?  _Jurassic Park_? Shit, Sammy, this is awesome. Where has this Netflix thing been all of our lives?”  
  
Sam reaches for the remote and attempts to wrestle it out of his brother’s grasp. “We’re not going to watch any of those,” he argues, “Cas has never seen a movie before, and his first movie shouldn’t be full of pointless action. Why don’t we watch something with more substance?”  
  
“ _Pointless action_?!” Dean shouts, obviously scandalized and wounded in ways he can’t possibly begin to describe. “These are _classics_ , Sam! I mean, c’mon: adventure, spaceships, dinosaurs? It can’t get any better than that. I refuse to watch one of your chick flick choices.”  
  
“In Sam’s defense,” pipes up Cas from his blankets, “I was around at the time of the dinosaurs, and they’re actually a lot more frightening in person than you would think. Although you may find them entertaining in retrospect, they were fundamentally terrifying beasts that could lay siege to any area at a moment’s notice.”  
  
“Uh,  _duh_ , Cas. That’s what makes Jurassic Park so awesome.”  
  
“Oh, give me that,” Sam grouses, tearing the remote out of Dean’s hand and passing it to Castiel. “Let’s let Cas decide.” Kevin nods in solemn agreement, glad to let the decision-making go to someone other than the brothers.  
  
Uncertain as to which film to choose and intrigued by the bright colors, Castiel begins to surf through the section labeled “animated movies “and ignores the whine of protest that Dean makes from his seat; Sam effectively silences his griping with a punch to his older brother’s shoulder.  
  
“How about this?” Castiel asks, selecting a film depicting an old man, a young boy, and a dog all clinging to a rope attached to a house kept aloft in the sky with an impossible amount of balloons. He skims the summary and, satisfied by what he has read, presses the play button. “This film appears to encompass the multifaceted beauty of the human spirit and man’s desire to forge deep connections with his peers.”  
  
“You got all that from the Netflix summary?” marvels Kevin as the opening credits fill the screen. Castiel simply blinks once in response.  
  
  
As the movie plays out on the screen, Dean finds himself relaxing and actually enjoying the story; the odd dog that keeps getting distracted by squirrels is entertaining comedic relief. Sam appears fully engrossed in the plot, and if Dean sees his eyes getting misty after the opening montage, he doesn’t say anything. Kevin, exhausted from his work translating, falls asleep in the first fifteen minutes, and Castiel is contently perched in his nest of blankets and pillows.  
  
It may not be much, but watching cartoons with his brother, a young prophet, and a fallen angel, Dean feels as if he has finally found a sort of home for himself, someplace he belongs. All four of them bring something different to the table, whether it be their experiences or their skills, and together, they make something oddly beautiful.  
  
In the midst of it all, Dean remembers something an old man once made sure he properly beat into his skull:  _family don’t end with blood_.


End file.
